All the Right Moves
by erindarroch
Summary: Six months after the Battle of Yavin, Leia wrestles with her feelings about Han. Co-written with Justine Graham for JustAFlick as part of the HanLeiaSecretSanta exchange on Tumblr (2017). [Officially assigned to Erin Darroch.]
1. Chapter 1

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 **All the Right Moves**

By Erin Darroch and Justine Graham

 _ **Summary:**_ _Six months after the Battle of Yavin, Leia wrestles with her feelings about Han._

 **A/N:** This story was written for Flick (a.k.a. JustAFlick or WaitJustAFlick) for the HanLeiaSecretSanta fanfic exchange on Tumblr. When we discovered we'd been paired up with someone whose list of dislikes included "blissful marriage stuff", we decided that Santa's elves had maybe enjoyed just a _wee bit_ too much eggnog before they handed out the assignments! Lolololol But we pulled up our stripey socks and did our very best. We hope you like it.

For any other readers: this story fits loosely into our "Happily Ever After" universe, taking place several weeks after the events in our fic _Rumour Has It._

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Chapter One:

Leia Organa offered a nod and a word of thanks to the efficient droid on duty in the medbay and then, following the direction indicated by his articulated arm, made her way toward the isolation room tucked away in an alcove at the rear of the unit. She stopped outside the sliding glassine door to don the required particulate respirator, slipped in a new micron filtration cartridge and secured the mask over her nose and mouth. Activating the breather, she then gave three quick taps to announce her arrival before palming the door release and stepping inside the room. Once the door sealed shut behind her, she ventured over to the narrow bed, casting a sympathetic glance over its lone, miserable-looking occupant.

Wedge Antilles cracked open his bleary eyes and made an effort to lift his head from the pillow, but quickly changed his mind and subsided with a weary groan. He looked flushed and feverish, and it was obvious that even the slightest bit of movement caused him considerable discomfort.

"I just heard the news you were in here, Wedge," Leia said softly, her voice sounding hollow through the melded rubber mask. "Are you okay? How are you feeling?"

"Which one's worse, _miserable_ or _wretched_?" he croaked.

" _Wretched_ , I believe." She smiled, though she knew he couldn't see her expression through the respirator. "That bad, huh?"

"You have no idea," he mumbled.

"Actually, I _do_ ," she replied, and sank down onto the repulsor chair that was positioned beside the bed. "I had the Danari flu once, years ago. It makes _everything_ hurt. Every muscle, every joint...and I've never had a headache so bad in my life."

Wedge started to nod his head against the pillow, but winced with the movement and then released a heavy sigh. "I swear, even my hair hurts. Medic says I should start to feel better in a few days, but until the risk of contagion is over...I'm stuck in here."

"I know, I just spoke to him." Leia thumbed the controls that moved her chair a little closer, and then lowered the seat a notch so that her feet could rest more comfortably on the floor. "At least seven days, he said. That's one of the reasons I'm here. You're not going to make it to lead the rest of the combat readiness classes, and since High Command has made it mandatory that all personnel complete the training in the next three days, I wanted to let you know I'm going to volunteer to take your place."

Leia had undertaken basic self-defense training in her youth, of course, and enjoyed it immensely, but she had especially relished the more recent instruction in hand-to-hand combat she'd received in the six months since she'd begun living on Alliance bases full-time. Much of that training had come from Wedge himself, along with a few other capable fighters who had been tasked with bringing all recruits in their tiny Rebel cell up to a minimum level of competence. As such, she'd fully endorsed the training program mandated for all personnel by High Command, and had taken to the routines with great enthusiasm. The challenging physical regimen not only honed her skills and kept her body in peak condition, it occupied her mind as well, providing a distraction from her grief and acting as an outlet to channel some of her pent-up frustrations into something more beneficial. She'd quickly excelled and risen to the top of the class, often acting as Wedge's informal assistant. Despite the unfortunate circumstances that had put him out of commission, Leia had jumped at the opportunity to act in his stead.

Wedge had fallen silent in the wake of her offer but he stirred after a moment and cleared his throat, managing a sheepish expression on top of his sickly pallor. "Uh, sorry, Princess. I thought you were going to be too busy this week with all the mission briefings coming up, so I've, uh...I've already found someone to replace me. Sorted it out before I headed to medical."

"Oh, that's fine," Leia hastened to reassure him, though she couldn't help feeling a mild pang of disappointment. "Who'd you tap, then? I thought the rest of Rogue Squadron was busy escorting supply runs to the Varada Sector. There aren't many left on base who could do it."

There was another long pause. Wedge skewed his pursed lips to one side before finally turning his rheumy, red-rimmed eyes back to Leia and answering with apparent reluctance, "Uh...Han's gonna do it."

Leia blinked. "Han?"

Wedge squinted at her. "Yep."

"As in… Han _Solo_?" Leia pressed, not bothering to hide her incredulity.

"The only Han I know," Wedge sighed, closing his eyes once more.

A long barrage of questions racked up in Leia's brain in such rapid succession she didn't know which one to fire off first. _Han Solo_ —the cynical, self-serving and fiercely independent contractor with an ego the size of a small moon—volunteering to lead a training exercise for a bunch of revolutionary soldiers whose cause he didn't support or even care about? That didn't sound right. Disconcerted, Leia blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"Is he even _qualified_?" Then, belatedly realising that her tone sounded harsh and Wedge might take her comment as being critical of his choice, she amended, "I just mean that he's a spacer, not a fighter, unless you count that blaster on his hip. What does _he_ know about hand-to-hand combat?"

Carefully, Wedge angled his head and opened his dark eyes to peer at Leia. "You might be surprised. I've seen him in action a couple of times. He took me along on that run he did to Garel a while back, remember? We got into a scrap trying to get past the Imp guards at the rendezvous point and barely got out of there with our lives. And there was that time on Daimla, a couple of months ago, when we had to fight our way out of the tunnels to get back to the ships. Couldn't use blasters, or risk bringing the whole thing down on top of us. He fought 'em off, as good as—or better—than the rest of us." Wedge gave a little one-shouldered shrug against the thin mattress, his features crinkling up in a grimace of pain. "He knows how to handle himself, Princess. I don't know how, but he does. He knows all the basic maneuvers, for sure, and he even had a few tricks up his sleeve that I'd never seen before."

Leia absorbed that information in silence, trying to imagine the Han Solo she knew engaging in such activities. It wasn't difficult to envision him being physical. Although she would never admit it to another living soul, Leia had to acknowledge that she had envisioned Han being _physical_ with increasing frequency over the last couple of months, especially after sharing a run of a back-to-back missions with him before they abandoned the base at Rasdun. The time she'd spent with him on those brief runs had put her into close proximity with him on a more extended basis than ever before. He was undoubtedly fit; tall and lean, but strong, too, and possessed of an easy grace that spoke of a man completely at home in his own body and keenly attuned to his own physicality. While on base, she often watched him out of the corner of her eye, trying not to seem as if she were watching, as he loaded and unloaded freight from the _Falcon_ 's holds. The way he moved in the performance of such routine tasks was fascinating enough, but when he had to resort to more physical labour, such as when one of the repulsor sleds on his dilapidated ship broke down—which was more often than not—that was something else altogether.

On one memorable occasion, she'd watched him jump up to grab the bottom edge of the loading ramp when its hydraulic mechanisms failed, bringing its jerking progress to a screeching halt that turned the heads of everyone gathered in the cavernous hangar, and leaving the ramp frozen in place just above his head. She hadn't been able to take her eyes off him, riveted by the way he'd smoothly pulled his body up with the strength in his arms, and then hefted himself up with apparent ease, planting a knee in the gap and then a forearm, until he had enough traction to haul himself up the rest of the way. The sight of his hind quarters slowly disappearing from view as he'd crawled his way up into the ship to palm the emergency release would be forever burned in Leia's memory. Even underneath his ubiquitous white shirt and black vest, she could see evidence of well-defined musculature in his arms and chest, and those form-fitting bloodstripe trousers he wore accentuated his firm thighs, and did nothing to hide the rounded curve of what she had to admit was the finest ass she'd ever seen.

"Anyway, from what I've seen he's a pretty decent hand-to-hand fighter," Wedge was saying. "I thought he could do a fair job of taking the new recruits through the basics, anyway."

Leia snapped out of the momentary daze engendered by Wedge's revelation. Feeling mildly embarrassed by her own extended reverie—and mortified by the level of detail in her mental cataloguing of Han's physical attributes—she gave herself a little shake and tried to regain her composure enough to continue the conversation. There was another question hovering at the top of her mind, one that begged an answer, given the tone of almost every conversation she'd ever had with Han on the subject.

"I'm sure you're right, Wedge," she said. "I have no doubt he's capable; I'm just surprised you would even think to ask him, considering his usual attitude."

Wedge grunted in acknowledgement of her words, but Leia thought she saw a flicker of a smile cross his face. She sighed and sought to clarify.

"I just mean...he's been hanging around here for over six months, but he hasn't shown much interest in getting involved with anything we do, beyond handling the freight work and personnel transfers he's been hired for. How much did you have to pay him to lead the combat training?"

"Nothing," Wedge croaked. "He's doing it for free."

Now that _really_ didn't sound like Han. Leia furrowed her brow and gave Wedge a dubious look. "I don't believe you."

"It's the truth, Princess."

"If you aren't paying him outright, then he must have talked you into owing him something else," she said firmly, crossing her arms over her chest and fixing him with a pointed stare. "There is no way he'd volunteer for something like that, if there's nothing in it for him."

Despite the absolute conviction with which she'd loaded her tone, Leia felt a strange inner twinge as the words left her mouth. She didn't particularly want to examine the emotion that fluttered briefly in her gut, but her rational mind would never let her get away with fooling herself. Deep inside, she wanted to be wrong about Han Solo; in fact, if she were being completely honest with herself, she didn't even believe that what she'd just said about him was true. And she was silently hoping against hope that Wedge was about to tell her that the Corellian had had a change of heart and wanted to join the Rebel cause after all.

Wedge hesitated, flicking his eyes in every direction but hers, and looking like he'd rather endure the pain of diving under the bed covers than respond to Leia's challenge.

" _Wedge_?" she pressed, drawing out his name with an inquisitive drawl.

"I wouldn't say there's _nothing_ in it for him, Princess," he hedged.

"What do you mean?"

The dark-haired pilot finally heaved a weary sigh. "Look, I commed him to ask the favour before they hauled me down here. At first he said sorry, he wasn't available. So...I sent him the roster." He gave another small shrug. "Next thing I know, he commed right back and said he'd do it after all."

Leia struggled to find the connection. "I don't understand," she said. "Why did you think that showing him the roster would change his mind?"

Wedge gave Leia a long, speculative look. Pressing his lips together, he appeared to give his reply careful consideration before responding. " _Maybe_ because I made sure yourname was at the top of the list."

Leia felt her eyes go wide and then she looked away as she felt a hot flush paint her cheeks. Suddenly grateful for the stuffy mask that obscured half of her face, she cleared her throat and tried to compose some sort of response. It wasn't the first time someone had suggested that there might be something brewing between herself and the handsome Corellian; just the other night Luke had come looking for her and had found her aboard the docked _Falcon_ , chatting and laughing with Han and Chewie over an impromptu meal. Luke had been invited to join them and had accepted readily, but his comment on arrival had lingered in Leia's mind ever since: _Figured I'd find you here…._

The offhand remark still made Leia squirm inwardly. Up until that point, she hadn't realised that she'd been spending so much time in Han's company, visiting the _Falcon_ frequently enough that it had become the most obvious place for Luke to look for her when she wasn't on duty. It was true that Han's help in rescuing her from certain death had forged a bond between them. Together with Luke and Chewie, he'd been there for her in the darkest hours of her life—in the aftermath of the Death Star and the destruction of Alderaan—when she'd struggled to gather together the shattered pieces of herself into some semblance of order and calm. Although they'd never openly discussed it, Leia was keenly aware of her connection to those three treasured friends; each in his own way had helped her to get through the first overwhelming waves of grief, then to set aside her sorrows and get back to the serious business of bringing justice to the galaxy.

In Han's case, it was never any words that he said or even anything specific that he'd done. Laconic by nature, he seemed to shun empty platitudes and refrained from overt gestures of comfort, for which Leia was eternally grateful. Starting with the first time he'd sought her out after the awards ceremony on Yavin Four, when he'd handed her a bottle of ale and then sat beside her, sipping his own drink and letting her lean against his side in companionable silence, his steadying presence had become a welcome constant for Leia. And although he made a show of indifference—or even scorn—when it came to the political and military machinations of the Alliance, the missions that they'd shared so far had forced Leia to revise her first impression of him as a mercenary who cared for nothing more than money. No matter what sour or disparaging words might occasionally fly out of his mouth, Han's actions always told a different story. It had come as a bit of a surprise when she finally recognised it, but the Corellian smuggler had undoubtedly joined the short list of people Leia fully trusted, and their developing friendship was growing stronger over time.

For reasons she didn't completely understand, though, the knowledge that her closest friends—and now all of Rogue Squadron, apparently—had noticed her deepening camaraderie with Han, enough to make reference to it as Wedge had just done, was mildly disconcerting. Perhaps, she thought, it wouldn't hurt to exercise a bit more discretion where he was concerned; the last thing she wanted was to allow her friendship with him to become the subject of base gossip. He had weathered just such a firestorm not long ago, and Leia had no desire to fan the flames of idle rumours around him again, let alone around herself, when things were finally beginning to die down.

Still, the prospect of withdrawing from those occasional social interactions filled her with a sudden, heavy melancholy. Over the past month or so, she had become accustomed to—and rather enamoured of—Han's particular brand of flirtation. He aroused her in every sense of the word, making her feel simultaneously energized and deeply calm; desired, but also valued for higher reasons that remained unarticulated but which she nevertheless understood. She still persisted in teasing him about his clumsy methods of engagement, and he still joked about requiring a _How to Flirt with Feisty Princesses_ guide, but they had developed a warm friendship that promised something more, and she was loath to curtail its development.

Impatient with her own musings, Leia gave herself a mental shake and turned her attention back to Wedge only to find that the pilot's eyes were closed. While she'd been absorbed in ruminating over her feelings for Han Solo, her friend had taken refuge in the silence and subsided into sleep. Leia felt a pang of remorse for having prodded him with questions, and for outstaying the limits of his tolerance. Under the circumstances, she decided, it was best she make her exit while he was dozing, and avoid any future discussion on the matter.

She rose to her feet quietly, but the movement caused Wedge to stir and open his eyes once more. His face bore a look of profound fatigue, superimposed with that same slightly sheepish expression that dragged down his already pallid features even more. "Sorry, Princess. "

"No, _I'm_ sorry," she said, giving his arm a little pat through the starched, white bedcover. Lifting her chin a fraction, she strived to keep her tone light. "You're not well, Wedge, and I've kept you too long. Get some rest; I'll pop in and see you again tomorrow."

As expected, Wedge gave no argument. He nodded weakly and closed his eyes as Leia moved toward the door.

"Hey, Leia?" he called as she reached for the controls, his voice already sounding heavy with sleep. "You're not mad, are you?"

Leia bit her lip and threw a quick smile of reassurance at him over her shoulder. "No, I'm not mad."

" _Phew,_ " the pilot teased, offering a wan smile in return. "Mind dimming the lights a little for me?"

"Sure," she replied, and palmed the control, reducing the glare of the overhead lights to a fraction of its previous intensity. "Sleep well, Wedge, and get better soon."

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	2. Chapter 2

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Chapter Two:

Sizing up her opponent, Leia felt an uncharacteristic twinge of self-doubt. Jormag Kielstaf was an enormous creature by any standard, but his size was particularly striking because he was apparently one-hundred percent human. He was so tall, and so broad and bulky in build, Leia wouldn't have been shocked if he'd told her he had Esoomian genes somewhere in his genetic makeup. He was an amiable fellow, though; a heavy weapons specialist from Aridus whose mild disposition had earned him a reputation as something of a gentle giant, and Leia had no real worries for her safety in sparring with him. Her main concern was how to _beat_ him, and that was proving to be a challenge perhaps too big for her to manage.

She was already breathing hard and covered in a sheen of perspiration from her first three bouts; the first against a stocky Lothalian who stood barely even with her in height, and whose sedentary occupation in the private offices of High Command hadn't equipped him with a fraction of Leia's strength and agility; she'd bested him easily. The second opponent had presented more of a challenge: a reed-thin Pantoran female, part of the elite special operatives team, whose speed and flexibility had allowed her to escape Leia's cradle-hold a couple of times before Leia finally managed to flip her over and pin her shoulders to the mat for the requisite five seconds. She had followed that up with another victory against an Ovoni woman who had unwisely relied too much on superior size and reach, and too little on effective techniques.

Now facing the hulking human male across the mat, Leia carefully evaluated her next move. Standard combat moves, like knee or elbow strikes, would be useless against an opponent of his bulk, she decided, and the disparity in their heights prevented her from aiming her shots high enough to be effective against more sensitive areas. She could perhaps manage a high kick to his solar plexus to disable him, maybe bring him to his knees and then pin him with a chokehold, but judging by the look of his bulging, muscular arms, chances were good that he'd throw her off long before she managed to wrap an arm around his neck.

"Don't think too hard," Han urged from somewhere behind her. "Just make your move."

She slanted a quick glance over her shoulder in the direction of the Corellian's deep, baritone rumble. As he'd done for the entirety of the session, Han was pacing the mat in a wide circle around the sparring pair, evaluating their moves from every possible angle and with a sharply critical eye. Wedge was right: Han _did_ know the moves, all of them, including some that were well beyond the basics and far too advanced to have been picked up in gritty cantina brawls. Despite the fact that Alliance slicers had uncovered few useful details about his shadowed past, Leia still harboured the intuition that Han had undergone some sort of military training; his knowledge in leading the class was highly adept, and he had displayed a surprisingly assured and professional demeanour throughout, adding further weight to Leia's suspicions.

It wasn't just the highly specialized nature of his skills that convinced her that her guess was correct. The way he slipped effortlessly into the leadership role, radiating an easy authority that both motivated and challenged the participants, seemed a bit too refined to have been picked up solely from acting as captain of a tramp freighter with a crew of one. Han was a natural leader, Leia noted with approval; he made sure to keep his feedback peppered with words of encouragement and underscored criticisms with good humour that put the entire group at ease and had them paying close attention to every instruction. Dressed in a snug grey shirt and athletic pants that left even less to the imagination than his usual attire, he wasn't too hard on the eyes, either. Silently chastising herself, Leia dragged her thoughts back to the task at hand.

"In a real combat situation, you won't have time to study the enemy," Han was saying, circling around until he came into Leia's line of sight, and then taking up a position where he could more easily observe her coming bout with Jormag.

Leia noted with some chagrin that he was directing his comments straight at her now, and not to her opponent, although she supposed it was fairly obvious which one of them was hesitating to engage.

Han gave her an encouraging nod. "If you screw up in here, Leia, you hurt your pride. Screw up out there, you get yourself killed. So, just trust your instincts, decide what your move's gonna be, and then go for it. Give it all you got."

Leia gave a curt nod. _Right, then._ Swiftly, she reviewed her plan: a fast and full-on assault targeting her opponent's weakest point, with the intention of stunning him long enough to allow her to attempt a takedown she'd recently learned—one that seemed to be fairly effective against significantly larger foes, _if_ she could manage to execute it properly. Taking on board Han's advice, she stopped thinking about it and simply surged forward, feinting to the left before dodging right and then delivering a leaping roundhouse kick that aimed straight for the vulnerable spot just under Jormag's ribs.

Before she could fully process what had happened, she found herself flying backward, and then slamming into the mat as if she'd been catapulted there, in a move that jarred her whole body and forced the air from her lungs in a painful rush. Jormag's considerable bulk loomed over her in the next instant, his corded forearm descending swiftly to press carefully but firmly against her throat, pinning her upper body to the floor. As she struggled to clear her reeling head and regain her breath, Leia managed to bring her swimming vision into focus on the Aridusian's face, and saw him give an apologetic smile. Even if she'd had the strength to try, she was too stunned to think of any way to shift his massive body from atop her own, or to wriggle out of his grip. Instead, she simply waited out the brief count, feeling frustrated at having been bested so easily.

"Alright, that's time," Han called, turning away and pacing over to far side of the room. "Everybody pack up. Good work today, and we'll see you tomorrow for return demos."

Jormag quickly released his hold and scrambled to his feet, and then extended a hand to help Leia do the same. "Sorry, Your Highness," he said in a rueful tone. "You okay?"

Leia hadn't recovered quite enough of her wind to offer a response, so she accepted his steadying hand and gave him a nod as she hauled herself upright. Once she was on her feet and he seemed assured that he hadn't caused any lasting damage, he bid her goodbye and then fell into step with the remainder of the participants, most of whom would be heading toward the showers to freshen up before reporting for the remainder of their duty time. Leia started to follow them, but then doubled back to snag her towel from the sidelines, dabbing at her clammy skin and wicking away the sweat that rolled in rivulets down her throat and chest.

As she turned once again to trail along behind the rest of the group, her eyes fell upon Han where he stood on the opposite side of the large square of padded mats, and she watched as he lifted an insulated container of water to his lips. Feeling an odd sense of fascination, she observed the muscles of his throat work as he drank deeply, and then allowed her gaze to drift downward as she slowed her walking pace, absentmindedly chewing on the inside of her cheek. Sweat darkened the front of his light grey shirt in an inverted triangle across his chest, causing the thin material to cling to his lean frame like a second skin and highlighting the clear lines of muscle definition underneath. She had unwittingly slowed to a full halt and her gaze had begun drifting further south when Han lowered the container, swiped the back of his other hand across his mouth and flashed her a crooked grin.

"Hey, Princess, you looked good out there," he said, crossing the mats toward her in a few unhurried strides. Something in his tone and the telltale sparkle in his changeable eyes made her wonder if he was talking about something other than her combat skills—but he had his Sabacc face on, and it was difficult to know for sure.

Leia cleared her throat and made a small sound of acknowledgement. "Thanks. Except I tapped out on the last round, where it really counted." She pressed the towel against the back of her neck, ruffling up the damp strands of hair that had escaped from her braids and gotten plastered there. "If that had been a real-life situation, I'd be dead right now. Especially once he had me on the ground."

Han nodded in agreement as he extended a container of water in her direction, which Leia accepted with a grateful smile. It was halfway to her mouth before it occurred to her that it was the same flask from which he'd just taken a swig. The realization made her hesitate for a fraction of a second, but then she brought it the rest of the way to her lips and drank deeply, feeling refreshed by the cool liquid—and just a little disconcerted by the rather intimate gesture. He'd offered it so casually and she'd accepted it so readily, she was faced once again with the stark realization that perhaps they _had_ grown a little too familiar with one another, considering their circumstances.

"Don't feel too bad," Han said. "Jormag's a challenge for anybody, and you gave it a good shot for your first time out. Starting with that diagonal kick was a good choice, too, in that situation. Problem was, the big guy was anticipating somethin' like that, and used it against you." He glanced at the chrono strapped to his wrist and grimaced, before holding up a forestalling index finger and then pivoting on his heel.

"Hold that thought," he called over his shoulder as he moved a few steps away, slipping a hand into the pocket of his athletic pants to withdraw a compact micro sanitizer unit. He flicked the device on and it began to emit an audible hum as well as a wide beam of amber light, which he aimed downward at the mats, disinfecting them in advance of the next class's arrival. Waiting for her heart rate to slow, Leia continued to dab away the beads of sweat that prickled on her forehead, watching as Han walked back and forth across the padded area. He quickly but efficiently performed a thorough sweep, before dropping to one knee a few metres away, narrowing the beam and stretching to the limit of his reach to focus on a particularly grubby section. Leia smiled inwardly, enjoying the flex of smooth muscle in his arm and the glimpse of bare skin that flashed briefly in the gap that opened up between the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his pants. What _was_ it about the sight of his smooth skin that brought such carnal thoughts to mind? Then, frowning at herself for entertaining those mental images, she forced herself to look away.

Han was a _friend,_ she reminded herself, and nothing more. She was beginning to think that perhaps she'd overstepped some invisible internal line where he was concerned, though, allowing strong physical attraction and her growing affection and admiration for him to cloud her judgement. Not that she was concerned about propriety, she mused, watching him move. Although she would never court gossip deliberately, she was a grown woman and a free agent, and she reserved the right to fraternize with whomever she pleased. And she was pretty sure—no, she was absolutely certain—that Han would respond favourably and with alacrity if she were to give him any encouragement in that direction. The problem with that tempting scenario was—

"I could show you a few things, if you're interested."

Leia snapped out of her reverie, feeling the flush of exertional heat that had just begun to fade from her cheeks bloom once again and intensify. She found herself groping around for an appropriate response, especially in light of where her thoughts had been moments before.

"What?" she managed.

"Some new tricks, to improve your odds for next time," Han clarified, narrowing his eyes and giving her a speculative smile as he slipped the slim sanitation device back into his pants pocket and closed the distance between them once more. He came to a halt directly in front of her, allowing his eyes to roam over her face for a moment before his smile began to widen. "There's a move I know that's designed to—," he began, but then his smile abruptly faded as his gaze caught on something over her shoulder, and he gave a muted curse. "Hang on," he said as he skirted past her. "Be right back."

Leia swivelled around to watch him as he trotted off to the other side of the room, stooping down on the way to snatch up a discarded warm-up jacket left by the senior officer who had just reappeared at the entrance of the cavernous training room.

"Ah, thanks," the Echani officer greeted Han, accepting the extended garment with a nod. He made as if to leave the way he'd come, but then turned back and said, "Hey, Solo, I just wanted to say how much I enjoyed the session today. Really useful stuff. Learned a couple of things I didn't know before."

Han responded with cordial good grace, engaging the older man—Commander Jort Rasko, if Leia's memory served her well—in an impromptu discussion about the merits and the drawbacks of training the Rebel forces primarily in offensive maneuvers, instead of focusing on defence. As she watched Han interacting with the officer, she was struck once again by how remarkably adaptable he was and how easily he seemed to relate to people of all species, ranks and dispositions. To hear Chewie tell it, the Corellian smuggler was unfortunately predisposed to attracting trouble wherever he went, and was possessed of a lifelong habit of pissing off all the wrong people—whether he did that inadvertently or intentionally wasn't quite clear. Indeed, she couldn't be sure that Chewie wasn't just joking about that last part; her grasp of Shyriiwook was rudimentary at best, and even with Threepio and Han offering the occasional translation, it was entirely possible that she missed some of the nuances of the Wookiee's animated storytelling. Looking at him now, it was difficult to remember that he was ever anything less than affable and charming, which was why her own reluctance to act on her attraction to him both frustrated and mystified her to no end.

As much as her growing attachment to the handsome Corellian excited and invigorated her, it also stranded her in the middle of a conundrum, leaving her lost in a puzzle of the heart that she hadn't the slightest idea how to solve. She had to admit that she was drawn to him; after all, he was smart, handsome and sure of himself, and he had proven to be very capable in a variety of challenging situations. Of course, he was also insufferably cocky about those very things—but she'd already sussed the truth of that. Much of his bluster was just an act; a persona that he'd created and continually reinforced to keep his true nature firmly under wraps, and to deter anyone who dared to get too close. In Leia's case, however, he seemed to have made an exception, often letting down his guard when they were alone together or accompanied only by Chewie and Luke, and she found the dichotomy between his outward facade and his private self both intriguing and strangely appealing. Looking back over the past few weeks, she had to admit that she'd been seeking him out more often, naturally drifting in his direction whenever he was on base and taking advantage of every opportunity to spend a little time with him. She felt a twinge of mild embarrassment. A flirtatious friendship was one thing, but she simply could not entertain the possibility of allowing anything more to develop between herself and the perplexing smuggler.

It wasn't that she was concerned about the disparity between his social position and her own; her egalitarian parents had impressed upon her the need to be dutiful and responsible in her role as a princess and a leader of her people, but they'd never been tolerant of any form of elitism, and Leia certainly didn't see herself as above or below anyone else in terms of status. It was true that Han lived and worked outside the law, but Leia and her Alliance colleagues were all now outlaws, too—and she'd seen enough of the Corellian's practices to know that he was neither a common thief nor a cruel con artist. He was just a man trying hard to make a living in a galaxy that had stacked all the cards against him. So what was it, then, that made her hesitate to make a move?

The answer came to her as she tuned in to what Han and the commander were saying to one another.

"I don't understand why you're not already commissioned," she heard Rasko remark. "After what happened on Daimla and how you handled things there."

Leia watched as a shadow passed briefly over Han's face, although he smoothly resumed an impassive expression as he murmured a polite demurral, dismissing the commander's suggestion with a wave of his hand.

"You could be leading your own platoon by now, if not a whole company, with what you know," Rasko pressed. "And you know our situation, Solo. We could really use a good—"

"Sorry, Commander, not gonna happen," Han interjected, his expression darkening.

"But—"

"Not interested," Han said flatly, his jaw taking on a hard line.

Leia flinched at Han's sharp tone and frowned to see the belligerent jut of his chin as he faced down the Echani commander's evident surprise and disappointment. There was a long and awkward pause between the two men as Rasko silently absorbed the Corellian's final words on the matter. After casting a cursory glance in Leia's direction, the officer gave a curt nod and muttered another stiff word of thanks to Han for the training session before swivelling around and making his departure through the open door. The portal closed behind him with a whoosh of air and a faint click.

As Han turned on his heel and headed back in Leia's direction, she had a moment of clarity with regards to her feelings for him, and it made her heart sink. The real difficulty where he was concerned was the question of his position within the Alliance—or rather his continual rejection of any official or permanent role. Rasko's suggestion wasn't the first one he'd quashed; Leia knew for a fact that Carlist Rieekan had already extended an offer to him, because the Alderaani general had solicited her input before making the proposal to Han himself. She had wholeheartedly endorsed the decision to invite the Corellian to formally join the Alliance, because she knew that he had no love for the Empire, and she had already noted his potential. He'd been working alongside the Rebels for more than six months now and she had to admit, despite the assertion she'd made to Wedge that the spacer would never do anything for free—and despite Han's own continual insistence that he was only in it for the money—he _had_ done plenty of things that fell well outside his remit as an independent contractor. Always interested in spacecraft and how to make engines perform more efficiently, he could often be found in his downtime grubbing around in the belly of an X-Wing with Luke, or helping the technicians to devise clever workarounds that coaxed improved performance from their antiquated systems. And yet he had coldly refused Rieekan's offer, and even suggested that a repetition of it might prompt him to leave Alliance company altogether and seek employment elsewhere.

On the other hand, his willingness to step in for Wedge and act as a trainer of the troops today was a gesture well beyond any of the things he'd done before, and it was one that made Leia feel both confused and hopeful in equal measure—and more than a little frustrated by his terse rejection of Rasko's suggestion. Why couldn't he see that joining the Rebellion was both the morally correct thing to do, and something that would benefit him personally? It wasn't as though he'd been wildly successful in his smuggling career, Leia thought with some asperity. Considering the dilapidated state of his ship and the fact that he continued to accept short-term contracts from Alliance forces, following them from base to base and accepting what even Leia had to admit was a meagre wage for such services, spoke of a certain degree of financial insolvency. A commander's income wouldn't amount to much more, she had to allow, but at least it was steady pay and he'd be doing the galaxy a service at the same time—if only he would stop being so damn stubborn.

Leia fumed in silence, watching him approach.

Han reached her side again and flashed a quick smile. "Sorry for the interruption, Princess. Now where were we? Oh yeah, you were saying you'd be a dead woman if you ever faced someone like Jormag in real life."

He made no mention of the Echani officer's suggestion; in fact, he seemed to have shrugged off the brief confrontation completely, and he appeared to take no notice at all of Leia's withering glare. She furrowed her brow at him, irritated both with him for his intransigence, and with herself for seriously entertaining thoughts of a dalliance with him—or even something more. She was spending far too much time these days trying to figure him out, she decided. If he really did have one foot out the door, as he liked to remind her every so often that he did, then he wasn't the sort of man she could afford to invest in anyway, no matter how gorgeous, skilled or experienced he was. Feeling frustrated by his apparent imperviousness to social pressure, she decided to follow his lead and pick up the conversational thread where they'd left off, leaving the argument about his narrow-mindedness and his obvious commitment issues to some other day.

"Yes, I suppose my best strategy against someone that size would be to run," she admitted lightly, and then gave a humourless laugh. "And then to get my hands on a blaster."

Han nodded. "You're agile and strong, Leia, and I've seen you run like a Kybuck when you needed to. Plus, you seem to have a good level of endurance, so it's not a bad idea to rely on those strengths and avoid the hand-to-hand if you can."

Leia gave a rueful nod. Witnessing Han's resistance to being recruited into the Alliance was only one component of her lingering sense of frustration; the dreadful feeling of being pinned and helpless beneath Jormag's weight was the other. The memory was still with her, irritating and vexing her to the point of making her scowl. She could hold her own in almost every other type of situation, but there was nothing she could do about her diminutive size. She sighed. "Let's just hope I never find myself in a situation like that, then, where I get knocked down and pinned before I have the chance to flee."

Han gave her a thoughtful look, folding his arms across his chest and chewing on one corner of his mouth. After eyeing her for a moment, he said, "The thing is, Princess, it's bound to happen sooner or later, especially if you keep running straight into the thick of things, which you seem kinda hell-bent on doing."

Leia pursed her lips and attempted a stony glare, but she couldn't deny the truth of his observation. She did display a tendency to rush into action, when sometimes the prudent thing to do was to run away. Absently, she realized that in most of those same situations of late Han seemed to be at her back, launching himself into the fray right behind her, and then yelling at her about it afterward. She couldn't help but wonder now if his participation in those situations was less a matter of coincidence and circumstance than she had previously thought.

Han cleared his throat. "So, the main objective, _ideally_ ," he continued, pointedly stressing the word with a wry half-smile, "would be for you to get away without getting physical, or maybe get to a blaster or some other weapon to even the odds. But if luck don't go your way and you _do_ find yourself pinned down by a big guy like that, it ain't over. Before Rasko showed up, I was just about to say that there's a move I know that'll let you use your small size to your advantage. Want me to show you?"

Leia hesitated, pressing the towel to her forehead once more, using the move to shield a quick flick of her eyes over his lean frame from head to toe. Han looked dishevelled—enticingly so, with rumpled hair and a light sheen of perspiration glistening on his suntanned skin, throwing her stern and sensible thoughts about him into direct conflict with her other, decidedly emotional and less virtuous ones. Under normal circumstances, she would never balk at the opportunity to acquire a new skill, especially if it meant becoming more effective in the fight against the Empire. But this situation was far from normal. The idea of grappling one-on-one with Han in his present state was disconcerting, and even more so given her own continually shifting and conflicted feelings. Nevertheless, judging from what she'd seen of his abilities, and with the uncomfortable memory of being trapped beneath Jormag's bulk still lingering, she simply couldn't overlook the opportunity. Tamping down her rogue thoughts, she summoned her professional side to the fore, and then retreated a few steps backward to set the container of water and her towel on the sidelines.

"Sure," she said, keeping her tone light. "I'd appreciate that. I never turn down the chance to learn something new."

Han raised an eyebrow and then gave her a playful wink as he lowered himself to the mat. "I'll keep that in mind. Now watch me as I run through the basic move, and then it's your turn."

He positioned himself supine on the mat, drawing up his knees and placing his feet flat on the floor.

"So the whole idea here is that you use your small size to work in your favour, not against it. You want to _make_ yourself small, get your legs up and use the power in your largest muscles to fight. Shorter legs are an advantage in this situation." He tucked into a tight ball, rolling his body back onto his shoulders as he brought his knees up, then kicked one foot, heel-first, into the air. He rolled back down into a supine position and gave her a smile. "Imagine your attacker's head is up there, 'cause he's leaning over you, and you're gonna do the last thing he expects, which is to tuck up and land the bottom of your foot against the underside of his jaw. It's a quick move, but if you do it right, it'll knock even the biggest brute on his ass."

Leia watched as he ran through the movement again. As he demonstrated, he explained that she needed to get her body positioned in such a way as to clamp her hands, with arms stiffly straightened, against her attacker's shoulders as he descended, then use one foot against the floor to squirm out far enough to be able to pull one bent leg between her attacker's body and her own. Then, using her knee against his chest for leverage, she could pull the other foot up, before planting both feet on her opponent's hips or upper thighs. The manoeuvre was designed to let her use the superior strength in her legs to hold her attacker at bay long enough to let her rock back as Han had just done, and then land a kick to the jaw that would stun her opponent and let her get away. As he'd mentioned, it was clearly a move that only someone slightly built and with relatively short legs could execute properly, and one that Leia immediately judged to be worthwhile to learn. Thinking back to the situation she'd found herself in with Jormag, she could envision the manoeuvre's potential effectiveness.

Han repeated the moves a few times, increasing his pace with each iteration to show her how to perform all the steps together at speed. Leia tried mightily to pay attention to the sound of his voice and to focus on the instructions that he gave, but the sight of his lean body in exertion was highly distracting. When his shirt rode up, offering a glimpse of the fascinating definition of his taut stomach beneath, she found herself distracted to the point of not listening at all.

She gave herself a mental shake to clear her head as Han sat up and then leaned back on straightened arms, cocking his head to one side and giving her a faint smile.

"You look a little lost, Sweetheart. I get it, it's hard to see it from up there. It's better if you get down on the mat with me, and we'll do a little roleplay."

She wasn't sure whether it was his relaxed and open body language, his suggestion that she join him on the floor, or the way he'd said the word 'sweetheart', but her stomach gave a little flip and she felt her pulse trip into overdrive. He'd called her by that nickname a few times quite early on in their acquaintance, but always before with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. This time he sounded sincere, almost tender. Leia frowned, fighting down the sudden, powerful desire to accept the affection she detected in his tone, as if it were real.

He's a _contractor,_ she admonished herself sharply; an egocentric and unabashedly self-serving individual who was probably only sticking around until something better came along, and flirting with her every now and then to pass the time. _So what_ if he was charming. And good-looking. And always happy to see her, making her feel welcome and wanted whenever she dropped by his ship and wound up staying for dinner. It didn't matter if he made her laugh, and occasionally impressed her with an array of surprising talents he seemed to pull from nowhere. The most important thing she knew about him, the crux of the struggle between her head and her heart, was that he didn't care about the rebellion against the Empire—a cause so important to her it was practically her whole life—and he had no intention of ever joining the fight. It seemed that every time she managed to forget about that, he would say or do something to remind her and, as much as it pained her to acknowledge, it wasn't a problem that was going to go away. Her resolve now strengthened by the silent review of those bitter facts, she straightened her shoulders and then knelt down on the mat between his bent knees.

"Good, okay," Han said, seemingly oblivious to Leia's inner turmoil. "You just knocked me down, right? So now, you're gonna follow up on that advantage by piling on top of me, trying to pin me. But I'm not gonna let you. Ready?"

Leia nodded. She sat back on her heels between his knees with her flattened palms atop her thighs, and waited for his signal to begin.

"You're going to have to come in a little closer, Princess. In a real-life situation, you wouldn't keep your distance like that. You'd move in fast, get in tight and try to overwhelm me, keep me down."

Leia walked forward on her knees until she was positioned as close to him as she could get without touching, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. She was suddenly grateful for Han's business-like manner, and immensely relieved that he had set aside his usual innuendo and flirtatious remarks, and was taking his instruction seriously. She drew a steadying breath. "Okay," she said. "What's next?"

"Now drop forward, like you're going to bring all your weight down on top of me."

Leia did as instructed, only to be halted mid-movement by Han's hands as they came up to push against her shoulders, preventing her from completing the move. "Keep your arms straight, and your elbows locked, see?" he said, drawing her attention to the positioning of his arms with a nod. "And plant the heel of your hands on the shoulders, not the chest. That's crucial, or the entire thing falls apart."

"Got it."

"Now watch...you plant one foot on the floor, twist your hips to one side and wiggle your other leg up, fast as you can. The second you've got enough space, get that leg up between you, and stick your knee in his chest."

As Leia hovered over him with her hands planted on the mat to either side of his head and her weight braced on both arms, Han attempted to demonstrate the next stage of the manoeuvre. After a few moments of writhing and squirming, though, it became apparent that there was simply no way that his long legs would get enough clearance to bend and effectively replicate the proper movements.

Before he could suggest it, Leia sat back and then gestured to indicate that they should trade places. Han smiled his agreement and then climbed to his feet, clearing the mat for Leia to lie down. She shifted onto her back with her knees bent and her feet flat on the floor, mimicking Han's previous position, and then Han dropped down onto his knees between her thighs.

All at once, the whole situation seemed like a very bad idea. He was saying something to her, but she couldn't seem to focus...not when he was casually resting his palms atop her bent knees, and moving his hips in closer to her body. Looking down the length of herself, she saw that his shirt had ridden up again and she was momentarily riveted by the sight of his lower abdominal muscles arrowing down and disappearing below the waistline of his athletic pants.

She'd never felt so intensely vulnerable in her life. Her heart was pounding, and a strange sensation had taken root in the pit of her stomach. It fluttered there, sparked by his proximity and position, and intensified by the warmth of his touch. She didn't know where to look. Putting on her best Sabacc face, she tried to appear unaffected, dragging her eyes away from his hips and focusing her attention on his hands instead, then on the sweat-dampened collar of his shirt, and the tiny bead of perspiration that trickled down his neck toward the hollow at the base of his throat—anywhere but on his face, fearing that if she met his gaze, her eyes would give her away.

Without warning, he loomed over her and came down fast like the aggressor he was pretending to be, and Leia didn't hesitate. She planted both hands on his shoulders like he'd taught her, and kept her arms ramrod straight. Despite his superior size and weight, halting his descent took surprisingly little effort.

When she dared a glance up at his face, Han was smiling. "Perfect," he said, holding his position above her. "Now plant that right foot on the ground. Good. And scoot your hips to the side so you can get your left leg up. That's right. Keep that knee there against my chest, see, because it lets you hold me off while you get the sole of your other foot high enough to brace it against my hip. It's all about control."

Following Han's continuing instructions, she slid her hands down to cup his elbows, straightened her pelvis and finally managed to get both feet planted on his upper thighs.

"Good. Now push off against me with your legs,as youmove your hands down from my elbows to grab my wrists, and then pull those knees up and tuck up into a ball, tight as you can."

Leia executed the series of moves with careful precision, moving slowly and using Han's grunts of approval as feedback. She pulled both knees up to her chest, tilted back as he'd instructed, and then pantomimed a series of kicks aimed past his head. In a real-life situation, at least one of those short kicks would have landed square on his face or on the underside of his chin, snapping his head back and giving her the chance she would need to scramble to her feet and run.

"That was good," Han said, sitting back on his heels between her thighs. "Now let's put it together, but this time I'm not going to prompt you."

Leia moved to lie back against the mat once more, but Han halted her with a shake his head. "Let's try it from sitting this time," he said. "A little more realistic that way."

Leia complied, tightening her abdominal muscles to pull herself to an upright position with her hands curved around her bent knees. At the same time, Han shifted forward a little, and the tandem movement brought them face to face. They were both a little breathless from exertion, and their faces were close enough that Leia could see the fine texture of his skin and the sheen of perspiration there. She drew a deep breath to steady herself, but the warm, clean and thoroughly masculine scent of him flooded her senses and drove all thoughts of self-defence right out of her head.

Without meaning to, she let her gaze drop down to his sensuous lips and then, catching herself, flicked her eyes back up to his, shocked by the sudden intimacy of the situation and how abruptly they'd dropped out of instruction mode and into something else entirely. Han's normally expressive face had gone quite still, the only outward sign that perhaps he was just as affected by their proximity as Leia was. There was no hint of a smile on his handsome features, but something in the way his mutable eyes seemed to darken as he looked at her, in the way he licked his lips and then swallowed hard as he continued to hold her gaze, made the fluttering low in Leia's belly thrum a little stronger. He held himself stock-still, staring at her with an intense expression that made Leia's heart pound and freed a wild hope within her that seemed to zing unfettered through her veins. After a long, silent moment, his eyes dropped down to her lips and then drifted back up, deliberately echoing Leia's own involuntary glance. The fact that he wanted to kiss her radiated from him like a beacon and she was powerless to look away, shocked to feel her whole body tighten and her skin prickling all over. Her physical response was beyond her control, but she was acutely aware of every distinct sensation, from the shortening of her breath to the full-body flush that made her feel as though she were burning from the inside. She wanted to kiss him, too.

Then Han blinked and gave his head a slight shake, like someone trying to escape the effects of a strong intoxicant. Furrowing his brow, he raised his flattened palms and gave Leia a gentle push to both shoulders, pantomiming the act of shoving her down. Leia fell back immediately, grateful for the disruption to her unruly and decidedly dangerous thoughts. Though she felt shaky all over, she managed to throw her hands up just in time to brace them against Han's shoulders as he surged on top of her. For a split-second she lost her focus once more, reeling at the strangely erotic sight and feel of his warm body descending over hers. As he pressed forward and Leia felt his narrow hips grazing her inner thighs, she had to fight off the primal urge to lock her legs around his body, wind her arms around his neck and pull him down for a heated kiss. _That_ would certainly put an end to that speculative gleam in his eye, she thought wildly. Channelling her urges into defensive action instead, she swiftly executed the manoeuvre as she'd been taught to do, but stopped short as she tried—and failed—to get her knees up high enough to free her feet and make the kick. Han used the weight and bulk of his body to prevent her from completing the rest of the sequence, waiting an extra heartbeat until he'd made his point, and then sat back on his heels, bracing his hands on his thighs as he gave her an admonishing frown, all signs of his earlier desire having been carefully erased from his expression.

"The first part was good, but you gotta remember to bring your knee right up to my chest, Sweetheart, not lower down against my stomach. If you don't pull up high enough, I can use my weight against you. Let's do it again."

For a moment, Leia remained supine and motionless on the mat, breathing hard and staring up at Han's handsome face as the war between her head and her heart raged anew. Her head told her that they should undoubtedly _not_ do it again...and that he should definitely stop calling her _sweetheart._ Especially if he was going to persist in doing it in that low, spine-tingling rumble of his that made the endearment sound so natural, and so intimately familiar. Her heart, though, longed to welcome his warm weight upon her once more, to feel the heat of his skin and the thrill of his touch that made her feel exhilarated and desired, and quelled for a moment the interminable loneliness that dwelled within.

"Hang on," Leia said, splaying a hand across her chest and feigning greater breathlessness than was really the case, in order to buy herself some time. "I need a second. My heart's going like crazy."

Han nodded and patiently held his position, glancing down to fiddle with his chrono. Though unplanned, Leia's choice of words rang true to her own ears; her heart _was_ a jumbled, muddled mess. It didn't seem fair, somehow, that this gorgeous, smart and talented man should be so utterly self-serving, and so steadfastly uninterested in joining the most important cause of their lives: defeating the Empire, and helping to restore peace and democracy to the galaxy. And why, in a cruel twist, was she stupidly _falling_ for him—for a man who repeatedly rejected everything that she stood for and every principle she held dear? It wasn't logical; it simply didn't make sense. And it made her angry.

She seized upon that thought and tried to build upon it, desperate to construct a bulwark of rationality around the vulnerable heart that lay open and aching inside her. She summoned all the facts about Han Solo that had protected her before: he was a rogue, a hustler, a...a _scoundrel._ That was it. By his own admission, he wasn't in it for her revolution or for her; he was in it solely for himself, and she was a fool if she allowed any of his finer qualities to make her think otherwise. Clinging to that notion, Leia set her jaw, pulled herself upright and gave Han a firm nod.

"Okay, ready."

Han moved in close once more, and they repeated the sequence a few more times until Leia was confident that she had the physical memory of it ingrained. When she executed the manoeuvre so quickly and with such perfect form that Han had to jerk his head out of the way to avoid getting kicked in the jaw for real, she thought it was probably time to bring their private session to an end. As she lowered her legs and straightened them out on either side of Han's body, she saw that, despite the near-miss, he was beaming a bright smile, clearly pleased with her performance.

Leia's fingers were still circled around his wrists, as they always were at the close of the manoeuvre, but she had just loosened her grasp and begun to withdraw them when Han suddenly swivelled his hands around and captured hers in a loose hold. The surprise of it made her heart skip a beat, and turned her limbs to stone. It was such a simple and innocent thing, Leia thought fleetingly. _Holding hands._ So why did it suddenly feel like the most intimate thing she'd ever done? Perhaps because she was flat on her back with Han on his knees between her legs, she mused with wry amusement. She tilted her head to one side against the spongy mat, darting a glance at one of the large hands that held hers, and then slowly lifted her eyes to meet his gaze.

His smile had softened and then faded into an expression Leia could only characterise as one of longing. There was a look in his eyes that communicated desire so strongly it made her heart skip again, and sent a sparkle of excitement racing through her veins. He looked so _good_ , sitting there on his heels, holding her hands, with his rumpled hair and his faint, crooked smile. His warm grasp felt marvellous, too; thrilling and reassuring all at once. She tightened her fingers around his, revelling in the contact and the heat of his skin.

Despite the brave face she presented to those around her, Leia was painfully aware of how alone she was in the galaxy. Save for her comrades in the small Alliance cell to which she belonged, she had no one—no loving parents to pat her on the shoulder at the end of a hard day; no interfering aunts; no childhood friends to turn to for advice and guidance. She had never considered herself to be a needy person. Self-sufficient and fiercely independent from a young age, she'd never given much thought to the importance of intimate relationships until her entire family and all of her friends had been obliterated, along with her entire planet and all of its people, at the punitive, dispassionate behest of Wilhuff Tarkin. In the wake of the Alliance's exhilarating victory at the Battle of Yavin, the weight of Leia's catastrophic personal loss had finally hit her—and hit her hard—and she had abruptly cut herself off from human touch. Profound grief and a heavy measure of self-loathing had made physical contact almost repellent for a while, and the well-meaning gestures of comfort offered by a few close colleagues had been endured with barely restrained impatience. In a flash of insight, Leia realised that, even now, only the three who had rescued her from the Death Star could freely touch her without making her spine stiffen up. Luke, with his gentle smile and undemanding presence, often greeted her with a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. Chewie, with his affable good humour and infinite patience, was in the habit now of gathering her under his long arm for a hairy embrace every time she met the _Falcon_ on return from a run. She'd grown to love those comforting touches and treasured the friends who caringly bestowed them.

And then there was Han.

Gazing up into his face now, drawn in by the mesmerizing appeal of his changeable eyes and the slow stroke of his rough thumb against her palm, Leia knew without a doubt that she would find some solace in his company, if she let it happen. She had nothing upon which to base that assumption except for intuition, but that intuition was strong. He liked her and he wanted her, and all she needed to do was to give him a sign that further movements in that direction would be welcome. Perhaps, she counselled herself, she was over-thinking things by mulling over his lack of political activism, and gauging his worth as if she were sizing him up for a lifetime partnership. There was no need for any of that. She could just sleep with him, she mused, and enjoy the intimacy for what it was, keeping things between them simple and uncomplicated. That's what lots of other people did, and it seemed to work for them. Maybe a fling with the handsome Corellian was just the sort of indulgence she needed to energize her, and give her something fun and frivolous to look forward to. Perhaps that sort of intimacy would be enough to assuage her loneliness, and stave off the nightmares that continued to haunt her night after night. It would be nice to have something so personal and pleasurable, something just for her—if not forever, just for now.

Leia's eyes were again drawn irresistibly to the sensuous curve of Han's mouth. The fine beading of perspiration that glistened on his upper lip filled her mind with images graphic enough to trip her pulse into high gear again. Just one kiss, she thought dazedly, already feeling half-drunk with the prospect. They could start with a kiss, couldn't they, and see where that took them? Making her decision, she tightened her fingers around his hands and pulled herself upright once more. Han's eyes widened perceptibly and she heard the change in his breathing as his eyes swiftly searched her face. Then, moving with glacial slowness, as if giving her time to change her mind, he leaned in. Drawn by the mingled look of disbelieving wonder and dark desire in his eyes, Leia stretched up and offered her mouth to his.

From across the room there was a quiet snick and then a rush of air, followed by the sound of lively conversation. Leia jerked back and snatched her hands from Han's grasp, as they both turned their attention to the main entrance. The two figures who had just entered came to a cold stop, staring curiously in their direction. Leia's stomach plunged in horror, realizing in an instant how the tableau must appear. Her cheeks flooded with heat and she was suddenly, irrationally worried that Han would capitalise on the situation by making some sort of backhanded comment that would embarrass her or start the rumour mill churning again. Her mind raced, but she was too flustered to think of what to do to forestall the assumption that they had been caught red-handed in the midst of a clandestine tryst. Her eyes darted back to Han, meeting his gaze with a pleading look. He reacted smoothly, his face showing no outward sign of alarm. He gave her the slightest hint of a sly wink that only she could see.

"Alright, let's go over it one more time, and make sure you've got it," he said, loudly enough for the newcomers to hear, slipping easily into a tone of such unaffected nonchalance that it was hard for Leia to believe they'd just spent the last few minutes holding hands and gazing into each other's eyes, mere centimetres away from sharing a kiss for the first time. He sat back on his heels, then turned his head and motioned to the newly arrived pair—a Sullustan male and a human female—to come closer.

"Good timing," he called. "You guys might wanna come over here and watch this move. We're going to cover it in detail in your session, but since Leia's got it down pat now, you can see exactly how it's supposed to be done."

Leia flashed him a grateful glance as the pair ventured across to the mats. Moving with casual grace, she occupied herself with a few leg stretches while Han spoke to the two Rebels, explaining the manoeuvre they were about to see and its benefits in taking down a larger opponent in a real-life hand-to-hand situation. As soon as he was finished, Han turned to Leia and launched without preamble into a repeat of his pseudo attack, taking her by surprise. Flawlessly, she executed the moves he'd taught her, smoothly blocking and pushing him back, and then wriggling away enough to bring her legs up to strike.

Once again, Han dodged out of the way a split-second before her foot connected with the underside of his jaw, and then gave her a wide grin. "Perfect!" he said with genuine pride, and then released her and rose to his feet to debrief the new participants.

Leia climbed to her feet alongside him, feeling relieved and deeply appreciative for how swiftly he had taken charge of a potentially fraught situation. She moved a few steps away to retrieve her towel and Han's container of water from the area bordering the mats, and watched from a distance as he chatted with the Rebels a while longer. He looked relaxed and confident as he spoke, continuing to discuss the finer points of the basic steps, just as he had with her, illustrating his meaning with motions of his hands to the undivided attention of the pair. It was obvious to Leia that his ruse had worked; there had been no exchange of scurrilous glances, no giggling or whispers behind hands. The two appeared oblivious to the private moment they'd just interrupted, completely engrossed in discussing the manoeuvre with Han, and paying Leia no mind whatsoever. She finally relaxed, too, dropping her tense shoulders and releasing a heavy sigh.

Finally, the pair wandered off to begin warming up for their session, and Han turned away to lift a datapad from a nearby stool, no doubt checking over the roster for the incoming class. Leia hovered at the edge of the mats and sipped at the water, uncertain of what she should say to him, if anything. The moment between them had been intense, no doubt, but it was lost now, and with him standing some distance away, Leia finally felt able to think clearly.

Perhaps it was best to gloss it over, she decided; pretend it had never happened and move on. As much as her body wanted to entertain the prospect of a wild fling with the handsome Corellian, her heart and her head would never allow it. They were poles apart on their core values, she and Han, and no matter how tempted she was, she simply couldn't enter into a relationship, even a brief and superficial one, with a man whose principles were so fundamentally at odds with her own—especially when that relationship appeared to come with a expiration date that was based solely on his whim. She had learned her lesson about the power of her physical attraction to him, though, and she would not be making that mistake again. Not unless he miraculously displayed a complete change of heart.

Still, she couldn't just up and leave without a word to him. She might run like a Kybuck when necessary, as he'd pointed out, but she didn't want to skittishly disappear like one. She felt compelled to say something that would draw a line under the episode and allow her to escape with her dignity intact. Draping the towel over her shoulder, she covered the distance between them, intent on thanking him for stepping in for Wedge, and for showing her a manoeuvre that she was certain would prove immensely helpful in future.

He turned in her direction as she approached, slipping his hands into the pockets of his athletic pants and flashing her a disconcertingly gorgeous grin. The sight of him smiling at her like that, his hazel eyes twinkling with their shared secret, sent a jolt of electricity racing through her body, powerful enough to short-circuit all conscious thought. She fought to shake it off, though, and by the time she had crossed the mats to stand in front of him, she had sorted out what she wanted to say.

"Thank you, Han," she said, striving for a light tone. "The class was excellent. I'm sure everyone learned some valuable tips today." She smiled and reached out, extending the container of water toward him. "Here, you're going to need this."

Han dropped his eyes to her hand, and then back up to her face, his smile fading into an expression that was unreadable, and yet weighted by the same tell-tale gleam in his eyes she had witnessed earlier. He stepped forward and reached out to accept the container, holding her gaze as he moved to take it from her waiting hand. As he did so, his fingers brushed against hers with a light touch that was clearly no coincidence. The warmth of the contact and the slide of his calloused fingers along her smooth skin raised the fine hairs at the back of her neck. Leia sucked in a breath, but she didn't pull away.

Once again, she felt a pang of disappointment for lost opportunities. Not only was he wildly attractive and exceptionally skilled, but for a man who spent a lot of time engaging in self-centred bluster, he was also a surprisingly decent human being. His reluctance to choose a side in the greatest conflict of their generation was the only real fault she could find in him—but it was a big one. Still, he had stepped up today in service of a cause to which he adamantly maintained he was not subscribing, and it pained Leia to let him go without one more try. Prompted by genuine curiosity, as well as by a faint but persistent hope, she drew a deep breath.

"Han, why are you doing this?" she asked, keeping her voice low to avoid being overheard by the other participants. "Helping us out like this, with the training?"

He curled his fingers around the water flask and Leia's hand dropped away. Shrugging dismissively, he took a drink as his gaze slid away. "Wedge asked me to."

"Yes, I know," Leia acknowledged, clasping her hands together in front of her body. She watched his face closely as she pressed the point. "And at first you said you were busy and couldn't do it."

His hazel eyes darted to her face once more and she saw a split-second flash of vulnerability there. She also saw his momentary struggle to choose a response—would he tell her the truth or prevaricate? She strongly suspected his choice would depend on his judgement of how much she knew about Wedge's recruitment methods. It was a gamble on his part and she was not surprised when he went with the safer bet.

"Changed my mind," he shrugged again. "Turns out, the money was pretty good. Better than expected."

Leia rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Han, I know you're not getting paid for this."

A silence fell between them then. Han stared at her, and she stared back. After a long moment, he shifted his stance and then turned aside briefly to set the flask on the nearby stool. He turned back to face her and braced his hands on his hips.

"Leia, look," he said gruffly. "You're _small,_ okay? Tiny, actually, and—" He stopped short, cracking a half-smile at Leia's reflexive scowl and smirking as she folded her arms across her chest and gave him a hot glare. "Well, you _are,"_ he insisted, dropping his wide stance and leaning in closer to whisper conspiratorially, "And you're also kinda prone to forgetting that fact, and storming straight into the middle of things without thinkin' a whole lot about your personal safety."

Leia opened her mouth to retort, but he held up a forestalling finger. "Hang on, Your Worship. I'm not criticising. I'm just saying that if you're gonna keep flingin' yourself into sketchy situations, one day you're gonna find yourself in deep trouble."

"So you volunteered to train _all_ of these people, for _my_ sake?" She gestured with one hand at the spacious training room, which was gradually filling up with people as the rest of the next class continued to arrive. She didn't bother trying to disguise her incredulity, although she did lower her voice to avoid attracting the attention of the distant, milling trainees. "That doesn't even make any sense."

"Sure it does."

"You could have offered to train me in that manoeuvre anytime, one-to-one."

"And I s'pose you'd have jumped at the chance?" he countered, raising both eyebrows. Before Leia could respond he made an impatient gesture. "Anyway, it's not just that manoeuvre, Princess, and it's not just you who needs training. You've seen these people in the field, same as I have. They're brave and they're committed, and I respect that. But they're not very good."

Leia's mouth dropped open in outrage and then she pressed her lips together and gave Han her fiercest scowl. "They will be. We _have_ a trainer, Hotshot. A good one."

"Sure, Wedge does a fine job," Han allowed, "but I know a few tricks he doesn't. Thought I had something to offer, that's all."

"So, you _do_ care about the rebellion against the Empire."

"I didn't say that."

"Not in so many words. But by volunteering to train the troops, it's obvious that you care enough to ensure their safety."

"What I care about is—." Han stopped short, staring at her with a look of frustration etched on his face. After a long moment, he shook his head. "The thing is, Princess, _I'm_ not always gonna be around to watch your back. _They_ are." He tossed those words over his shoulder as he turned away and retrieved the data pad from the nearby stool. Raising his voice, he called the trainees to order. "Alright, people, let's get started. Sound off when your name is called."

Leia stared after him, feeling as though she'd been punched in the gut. Just when she was beginning to let her guard down and think—no, not think, _believe_ —that Han might be showing some sign of genuine caring, he turned around and said something to remind her that his presence in her life was strictly temporary. She was tired of it, fed up with feeling torn in two and wrestling with her feelings for him when it was very clear that he harboured no such indecision of his own. It didn't matter what she read in his eyes or felt in his touch; it didn't matter how she interpreted his occasional helpful act, either. His words made his position quite clear, and told her everything she needed to know. They were not now, nor were they ever going to be, on the same page.

Han paused in his roll call and cast a glance in her direction, raising his eyebrows as if to ask why she was still standing there.

Seething inside with a roiling storm of emotions, Leia glowered in stony silence for a moment and then gave him a curt nod. _To hell with him._ She didn't need to open her heart—or share her body—with a man she couldn't be certain wouldn't callously head for open skies the morning after. She didn't need his uncertainty or his reticence; and she certainly did _not_ need his empty concerns about her safety. She could take care of herself, in every way; she didn't need Han Solo at all.

With nothing left to say, she turned on her heel and left the matted area with a determined stride, feeling the weight of Han's stare on her back as she headed for the door.

The End

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End file.
